Repaired, Whole and Healed
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: Hello, everyone! Sorry for the pause between writing; I took a short break. I was inspired to write this by FanficAllergy's story, The Only Time We've Got, using it as an outline. It is an minimalist AU of their other epic Damaged, Broken and Unhinged. I decided to expand their minimalist one-shot into a full length fic - credit goes to them in some sequences in Chps 2 and 5. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1: A Bowl of Soup

**Chapter 1: A Bowl of Soup**

I rise before the sun. I am still getting used to my schedule as head of the household. I can't believe it has only been a week.

A week since my life as I knew it was torn apart forever.

It was a week ago that my father, Kirkman Everdeen, finally succumbed to black lung disease. The very air he breathed - air from the mines that he worked in all his life - poisoned him. The funeral was three days ago. I, as the eldest at 16, was tasked with the responsibility of accepting my father's old uniform, his helmet and a medal from the Mayor. My mother rode through the ceremony with hollow, blank eyes, their brilliant Merchant blue dimmed. Primrose, my little sister at 12, held our baby brother Aven. Aven's only two, a baby that wasn't planned by either of my parents. But they were overjoyed to have a son after raising two daughters. Even if the prospect of having three young mouths to feed was daunting, almost impossible on a combined miner and Healer's wages.

Since coming home from the funeral Wednesday afternoon, Mother has taken to her bed and refused to see anyone. The knocks I have laid to her door go unanswered, the plates of food I prepare and leave by her threshold untouched. When Primrose meekly suggested yesterday that Mother has lost the will to live, I barked at her to take Aven outside and play.

Mother cannot die, no matter how much she might want to - if Prim's theory is right. It would be a selfish, selfish thing for her to do, leaving two of her children to the cruel whims of the Community Home. The Community Home is where all orphans under the age of 18 go before being cast out into the street to make their own way. If the Hunger Games doesn't snatch them first - your chances of being picked from the Reaping Bowl spike if you are an orphan. I refuse to let that fate be any more likely for Prim than it has to be, or Aven when he comes of age.

Dressed in my gear, I slip out of my house and into the graying light. Bundles of cloth are in danger of tumbling from my arms but I keep a firm grip on them. This is the last of Prim's old baby clothes, which I have been taking into the Hob for the last seven days to sell. Some days I have turned a profit. Others not. I hope to be rid of the rest of it by sundown.

After that... I am not sure how we will eat. All transactions in District 12 require money, except for in the Hob, where you can barter. I don't know a trade... except for hunting. Tomorrow, I will have to brave beyond the fence, take up my father's bow and go hunting for food.

I arrive at the Hob - the black market of the district. The first several vendors are opening up their stalls. I spy Greasy Sae, the toothless grandmother, setting up her stand, and mosey on over. If I can start off by bartering away some of these clothes, I could get a hot breakfast in me for strength to pawn off the rest.

But Sae only gives me an apologetic smile when I try and sell her Prim's old baby bonnet. "Sorry, girl child. I've got no use for youngin's clothes here."

"At least for a bowl of broth?" and I try to keep the pleading out of my voice. It won't do to beg. District 12 has a hostility for beggars. The morning after my father's death, I tried to go to my uncle - my mother's brother - for help. He's the Merchant apothecary in Town. He turned me away angrily, as if he didn't know me. Like I am dead to him. And I probably am; I certainly looked the part. Mother has been estranged from her side of the family for years, every since she flouted tradition and married my Seam father.

Greasy Sae frowns. "I'm sorry, girlie, but I..." I hear boots scuff up to a halt in front of her stand, and I wince. A flash of white glints off the dapples of early morning sunlight. Peacekeepers. They patrol through this market, even though its very existence is supposed to be illegal. But our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, is so laxadaisical, that plausible deniability rules the day and most illegal dealings are allowed to slide. Heck, some cadets even purchase the wares on display here.

"Here, Sae, I'll pay for her." I turn to protest, to say that I am not a charity case, but my mouth goes dry. My tongue falters.

The Peacekeeper cadet before me is young. Handsome, with long red locks that flow down to his shoulders in waves. A muscular chest that bulges up against the white plates of his uniform. A chiseled jaw. But what strikes me the most about him are his eyes... eyes as green as a summer sea... Their teal shade now observe me kindly as Sae fills two bowls and passes them over. Money changes hands with a smile from the Peacekeeper. His teeth gleam white. He has a nice smile.

Good thing I had dumped the baby clothes on the counter, for the cadet now nudges one bowl into my hands. I struggle to get a grip on it; the warmth nearly burns my fingers. Those blue eyes now narrow at me.

"Say, aren't you the girl whose daddy died in the mines early this week?"

I want to run. Hide in shame. Not just for accepting an act of mercy blindly and betraying my pride, but for also being forever associated with a day that rained fire and smoke. For being the daughter of a failed, dead miner. But my feet stay rooted to the gray, pebbled earth. Wordlessly, numbly, I nod. His grin widens, but curves with clear sympathy.

"I thought so. Your mama's the Healer here. You look just like her."

I gape a little. No one has ever complimented me like that. I much more favor my father. Prim takes after our mother. But even if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't agree. My mother is still a real beauty, and I have never thought myself beautiful. Small breasts. Largely skin and bones. All the same, I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and it isn't from the steam of the soup. "Th...thank you," I mumble. Turning my head, I set the bowl down, and fumble around the pile of baby clothes. I must look like an idiot, and I ignore Greasy Sae's smirk in amusement. "What do I owe you?"

He holds up a hand. "No, ma'am, there ain't no charge. But..." And he grins shyly, giving the single braid running down my back a flick. "If you can think of a fair trade, I'd be glad to accept the transaction. How 'bout a kiss for luck?"

I gawp at him, and he laughs. "Relax, I'm just kidding!" He drops his head and voice low, close to mine. "But in all sincerity: my condolences to you and your family, Ms..."

"Oh. Ummm..." I croak, and my brain has strangely gone blank. Name. He asked me my name. "Uh... Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen."

"Good day to you, Ms. Everdeen," the cadet smiles.

"Thank you," I strangle out, flushing with shame at the prospect of now owing this Peacekeeper for the rest of my days. I never say thank you unless I absolutely have to, and even then I don't like it. Those two little words just mean you are indebted to someone. I manage a good look at his name-tag and tack on at the end, "Peacekeeper Freeman."

He nods once, and flashes that brilliant smile. "I hope to see you again, miss."

"S... sure," I stammer and he ambles away. Still a little dazed, I say goodbye to Sae and begin to make my rounds. Hearteningly, every last scrap of clothing is sold off, the coins jangling in my pocket. I have enough to buy some meat for Aven and Prim, then save the rest.

I don't tell my little sister about my run in with the friendly Peacekeeper when I get home that night. She will just start imagining things.


	2. Chapter 2: Eyes Like the Sea Before a St

**Chapter 2: Eyes Like the Sea Before a Storm**

I see Darius every day for the next two weeks coming into the Hob. This time, I bear gifts of dead animal flesh instead of fabric, shot cleaner and cleaner each time. They are still small for now - rabbits and squirrels and opossum - because you never know when you see a Peacekeeper how much they are committed to the rules or not. I don't even know how deep Darius's loyalties run, until a week after we meet, he sees me trading hare with the Goat Man. He just laughs at my frozen expression and says, "My lips are sealed. But better tighten them with a kiss just to be sure, yeah, Katniss?"

He has asked me for a peck every day since he bought me soup at Sae's. And though I decline, as I have every day, I grant him with a smile instead.

Near the end of the second week, he asks to walk me home. I am too speechless to say No, so I just nod my head. I don't know what else to say.

But while I have been improving my hunting and even more improbably making friends, Mother's condition has been getting worse and worse. She's finally admitted me into her room to take meals, but they are sparse repasts; she eats only a little at a time. Sometimes, she'll skip a meal entirely. Her Merchant curves, once so voluptuous and envied by me, have become gaunt and thin. Dangerously thin. And she has yet to move from her bed. I'm beginning to worry about her circulation. How could I reasonably get her up and exercising? Better yet, how can I convince her to work again? Most widows in Twelve are allowed a month-long mourning period, but that month is already halfway up. And the reparations from the mining company - funded by the Capitol government - for Daddy's death are meager. I'll run out of that coin soon, maybe in the next three days or four. I have no clue where I can get coin after that... and I don't want to think of the options left available to me.

These thoughts are driven from my head when I hear a knock at the door. Prim is on the floor playing with Aven, so I go to answer it.

I see Peacekeeper white standing in the doorway and the world shifts. My heart pounds. My chest feels tight. My vision blurs. I need to get out of here!

"Katniss, it's okay," a warm, familiar voice says. "It's me. Darius."

I stop searching for an escape and blink, shifting the world back into focus. The voice was right, it is Darius. He's dressed in his Peacekeeper's uniform, his white gloved hands outstretched as if to calm me.

"Peacekeeper Freeman." I try to keep my voice even but I'm not entirely successful. "What can I do for you?"

The man takes a step back to give me more space. "No need to be so formal," he says, an easy smile crossing his lips. "It's Darius. I start to shake in terror any time I hear Peacekeeper Freeman. Makes me think my boss is about to chew me out." The smile becomes warmer, more hopeful. "Can I come in?"

I step to one side, noticing Prim, with Aven in her arms, hovering in the background.

Darius turns his head, taking in the main room. "You've got a lovely home, Katniss."

No one's ever said that before. Probably because it's not true. Our home is just like any other Seam home: small, dark, and full of things we made ourselves. "Thank you?" I say, uncertain.

"No, really, I mean it." He shifts, his eyes lingering on the few family pictures we have displayed. "It's nice. Homey. Nothing like the quarters we Peacekeepers get."

"What are your quarters like?" Prim's voice is curious.

"Well, imagine a room about this size," he motions to the main room, "but with gray and white flecked tile floors and all white walls. Everything's white. The ceiling, the floor, and everything in between. White dresser, white bed, white chair, white table. Even the toilet's white."

My sister makes a face. "You mean there's no color?"

"Yup!"

"Sounds…" I struggle for a word. Boring would be unkind. "...clean?"

Darius laughs. "I think the word you're looking for is boring." His voice shifts, becomes warmer. "I could put in for a house, I've got enough seniority, but I don't really see a point without someone to go home to."

I wonder why he's telling me this.

My confusion must show on my face, because he waves it away. "Oh, don't mind me, Katniss. That's not why I'm here anyway."

"Why are you here?" Prim speaks up before I can.

"I wanted to see how your sister's doing."

Aven fusses to be put down and Prim complies. My brother quickly toddles to one of his few toys and starts playing with it.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. Thank you for escorting me home the other day after I got sick on the way to the Hob. I'm guessing that flu just came on me out of nowhere."

Darius's gaze flicks to Prim and Aven, then back to me, understanding and respect dawning in his eyes. "I'm just glad I found you before anything bad happened."

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he continues, "In fact, I got something for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah." From the pouch on his back, he pulls out a soft package wrapped in brown paper and string. "For you. I saw it yesterday and I thought of you."

I take it hesitantly. With Prim here, there's no way I can turn it down. Not without prompting a slew of questions I'm unable and unwilling to answer. I open it to reveal a soft gray knitted shawl. It's pretty, but it's also useful. Darius must have noticed my coat doesn't fit correctly and got this as a substitute. It doesn't really matter. I can't refuse his gift even if I want to, which part of me, to my surprise, doesn't. We need winter clothing. I need winter clothing. Most of what I have is too small, threadbare, or both. I look up at him, gratitude in my eyes. "Thank you. This was kind of you."

"It's nothing, Katniss. I'm happy you like it." His sea green eyes twinkle with pleasure. He turns to Prim. "If it's okay with you, do you mind if I steal your sister for a little while?"

"Um… Sure?" Prim regards him in confusion. "Don't know why you're asking me, but okay."

"Thanks. If it's alright with you, Katniss?"

There's something in his stance. Like he's nervous. Grabbing my coat and new shawl, I instruct Prim, "Make sure Aven eats. And try to leave me some bread."

"But it's good!" she protests.

"I know. That's why I want some of it."

She pouts a little before saying, "Fine."

He motions me through the door. The air outside is still bitterly cold and I'm grateful for Darius's gift. Even though it's just one more thing that I owe him for.

"So… what'd you want to talk about?" I ask once I'm sure we're out of earshot.

"I wanted to ask you how your family is doing. Specifically, your mother."

I freeze. Here we go. I knew that the period of mourning story would only work for so long. I've already had to turn Panem knows how many patients away from our door with the explanation that she has taken ill. Which is the truth. But how long will that last? If what I think Darius is about to tell me is right, not much longer. The Capitol needs her Healing expertise. They need her to go back to work – even if a majority of her workload is cleaning up the messes they make. Most cases my Mother treats involve beatings at the hands of Cray's more rabid men. Whippings at the whipping post. Scarred wrists from days in the stocks.

I gulp. I decide to play on our burgeoning friendliness and tell him the truth. "She's been really sick lately. Prim and I are hoping to get her back on her feet soon. I know she is eager, too." That last little bit is a lie – Mother doesn't seem eager to do much of anything. "She'll get back to work, I promise…."

"Katniss." I feel Darius's soft finger press into my lips. The motion silences me, strikes me dumb. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not demanding that your mother return to work to meet her quota. Not all Peacekeepers are like that." His voice becomes soft, vulnerable. "In fact, most of us aren't. We're just doing a job, like anyone else. Trying to save up money to have a family."

I look at him in confusion. "I thought-" I stop, not willing to complete the sentence.

Darius finishes it for me. "You thought Peacekeepers don't have families. I'm not surprised." He lets out a deep breath and rubs his arms. "We're not allowed to get married until after our tour of duty is over and we're sent back to Two."

I tilt my head. "Why Two?"

"Because most of us are from Two... or the Capitol," he answers, "but not all of us. The Capitol likes to fill up the ranks with orphans from other districts. Kids under the age of eight are tested, and if they pass, they get sent to Two for further training. They pretty much remove all traces of who we were, even our names get changed. All the orphans end up with the last name Freeman."

I'm not sure why he's telling me this, but there's only one reason that makes any sense. "Did that happen to you?"

Darius nods, blowing into his hands again. "I'm from Four, originally. It's why I hate the cold." He flashes a quick grin at me. "It's a lot warmer down there."

I nod even though all I know about Four is what I've seen on the Games or learned about in school. Which is to say, not much.

"My parents were killed when their boat sank during a storm," Darius continues. "Me and my brother and sisters all got sent to the Community Home. The older ones ended up in the Career Camp, but I was the youngest. So I got sent to Two to become a Peacekeeper." He sighs. "I do my best to keep track of them."

"How?" I would think the Capitol wouldn't allow that.

He blushes a little. "I'm not supposed to admit it, but my brother might have won one of the Hunger Games."

The only male Victor from Four I can think of is Finnick Odair. But that can't be right. I stare at Darius, looking for similarities. The resemblance starts to solidify. They have the same sea green eyes.

Those eyes crinkle in amusement. "I see you've figured it out. I promise I'm not the playboy my brother is."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. I thought you could use a friend." He looks down. "I could." Darius looks over at me. "So, I was wondering if a friend could share a bowl of soup with you? No pressure."

I don't know what to say. He looks so hopeful. So open.

But he's a Peacekeeper. The enemy.

I take in his expression again and think back on what he just revealed to me. Maybe he's not the enemy. Maybe I need to figure out who the real enemy is. And if I'm going to do that, I need to give this man standing so earnestly in front of me a chance.

"Sure. I'd like that."

His answering smile could outshine the sun.

* * *

Food's tight over the next few days. Even with the addition of what Prim's been able to hunt and gather, we're still having to find creative ways to fill our stomachs.

The weather's turned cold. Bitterly cold. With the thick layer of snow, that means there's even less to forage. Everyone's got a cold now, and while Bristel's sister has made a full recovery, the rest of the Seam has come down with the sniffles. My mother's clients are happy to pay me in yarn, coal chits, old clothes, and even a few household supplies like pots, pans, and glasses. But no one gives us food or coin.

Another problem has surfaced. Aven's starting to turn up his nose at the thin broth and tesserae mush. We need money. We need supplies. I look at my last five coins nervously. Because of the cold, we've had to buy more fuel. Even the coal chits aren't enough. But Aven needs to eat.

Maybe if I go into town I can find something. Or the Hob. I might get lucky at the Hob.

But not today. The weather's too cold today. I'll go tomorrow.

Tomorrow isn't any warmer.

I'm struggling with Aven to put on his winter clothes so I can take him to Hazelle's when there's a knock at the door.

"Katniss?" Prim calls back. "It's for you!"

I manage to get one of my brother's arms into his coat and wrestle with the other.

I stop what I'm doing and whirl to see Darius standing there, a cloth-covered package held in one white-gloved hand. Aven takes the opportunity to wriggle out of his coat and dart over to Prim, lifting his arms to be picked up. I should be more annoyed but my heart's racing at the sight of the Peacekeeper's uniform. I have to remind myself the red-haired man is not going to hurt me. "D-darius!" I try not to flinch at my stammer.

The red-haired man shuffles his feet and says, "Sorry to bother you so early, but I got something for you."

I'm not sure what to say, so I just tilt my head.

He sets the package on the kitchen table and removes the protective cloth to reveal a gray and white speckled chicken.

My eyes widen. "Darius, this is too much!" Chickens are valuable here in Twelve. Only merchants and a few well-to-do Seam families own them.

"No no no, it's not anything at all! The mess hall had too many of 'em, and with this cold, we were having trouble feeding them all. Shipments are running late, trains are getting stuck. It's hard to keep the tracks clear, with all this snow. It's too much work for us and we're not a high priority district. The cold doesn't help either."

I'm sure he's not supposed to tell me all this, but it's clear he's nervous. "But… why bring the bird to me?" It doesn't make any sense.

"They were just gonna kill it, and frankly that seemed to be a waste of a good laying hen. I convinced the mess hall captain to let me take it."

All of a sudden, the bird's value skyrockets. A chicken will feed us for a meal. A laying hen will give us eggs for at least a few years. It's an amazing gift, one I can't accept. "No, really, Darius it's too much. I can't pay you-"

"Call me Dar," he interrupts.

"Dar, it's too much."

"It's a gift, Katniss. I wanted to give it to you." He blushes. "Please. Just take it."

I play with the end of my braid. "But why?"

He blushes even more. "We're friends, right? That's what friends do. It's okay for friends to give each other gifts."

"But I don't have anything to give to you."

"How about a walk? And a conversation?" He sounds almost eager. "I could do a walk and a conversation. That's worth a chicken or two, right?"

Not to me it isn't, but if that's what Darius wants, who am I to say no? I'm definitely getting the better part of the deal. There's one problem, though. "Um, I need to get to school," I remind him.

"Great! I'll walk you there." His smile is both expectant and hopeful.

"Um… okay. Prim, can you stay here and take Aven to the Hawthornes'?"

My sister nods, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.

I grab the shawl Darius gave me and wrap it around my shoulders. "So, I guess I should say thank you."

Darius flushes and rubs the back of his neck. "It was my pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3: What a Kindness is Worth

**Chapter 3: What a Kindness Is Worth**

It has been one month. One month since my father rose early like he did every day of his life, kissed my mother goodbye, traveled down into the Earth and got blown up.

And still, my mother has refused to move from her marriage bed, from the mattress where she has brought so many young babies into the world as a midwife, as well as birthing myself, Prim and Aven.

It is dark, deep night in mid-winter, when I hear a knock at the door. Pulling my nightgown and the shawl Darius gave me tight around myself, I go to answer it. When I do, I draw back in horror, a hand to my mouth. I can see the clear outline of a Peacekeeper's uniform even in darkness. But when its wearer steps into the light - one of two men on our porch - I deflate in relief. It's only Darius.

And I gasp when he introduces me to his companion. It's a medic. A _Capitol_ medic. I don't know where Darius found him, or how he ordered one. I've only ever seen them once in a blue moon, climbing up the hill to Victor's Village to administer check-ups to our lone Victor of the Hunger Games, a drunk by the name of Haymitch Abernathy.

"Can you take us to your mother, miss?" the medic asks me kindly. I nod, and usher them in, choking back a sob.

By now, Prim has woken up from the low voices in our parlor. I try to shoo her away by telling her to go check on Aven, which she does. But soon enough, she is back, pushing a dozing Aven in his mobile crib into the center of our kitchen and pretending not to study the medic's bag and supplies with a childlike curiosity. The medic notices and when he asks Primrose if she would like to be on hand as his assistant, she happily accepts. They both enter the master bedroom to attend to Mother.

Darius dutifully stands guard by the door. I busy myself by making a pot of pine leaves tea, setting the kettle to boil. I ask Darius if he would like a cup, but he politely declines. Warming my hands against the white formica of my mug, I anxiously wait.

"This is too much, Darius," I try to tell him softly. Sure. That's what I told him regarding the chicken a week or two ago. I still need to build it a henhouse, before Buttercup, Prim's cat, eats it. The beleaguered bird has been eyed like a snack ever since it arrived. Pretty soon, it won't be just the cat who sees it as plucked clean and roasting in an oven.

Darius just waves my concern away. "I filed the report, hired the medic. As I was the ranking officer made privy to Mrs. Everdeen's condition, her case will go in my folder, for my eyes only. It's in Panem's best interest that she lives. And besides..." His eyes flit almost sadly over to Aven, who by now is sitting up in his crib. He doesn't need to finish the sentence. I know what he means. The Capitol doesn't need another stolen child soldier.

It still isn't light when the medic emerges with Prim. "Give her another day of rest, and she will be back on her feet." He extends out a hand for Darius to shake. "It is good to see you again, Darius."

"Thank you, Copeland."

"But of course. Any family of Finnick Odair is family of mine." I gape. Darius hired the personal physician of his brother? The Victor Finnick Odair? That can't be above-board here in Twelve. But then again, Darius said my mother's case would be for his eyes only. He must be pretty confident word won't get out. And even if it does, Cray will probably be too grateful to care, as it's one less problem on his docket.

The medic takes his leave, and I walk Darius out into the cold. I stare up into his face disbelievingly. Gratefully.

"How can I ever thank you?" Darius shrugs his shoulders, his long red locks falling into his easy smile. "You don't need to thank me. Not every act of kindness is worth a thanks." I fold my arms, peering at him with a frown. "Everything is worth something, Dar. That's what I was taught." He grins at me curiously. "What do you think this kindness is worth then, Ms. Everdeen?"

My brow furrows as I consider the question. I think of all the little things that Darius has done for me, over this past month. And especially over those two weeks after my father's death, when we first became friends. The lengths he has gone to, and not expecting anything in return - though a concept that I don't understand, and probably never will - fill me with strange gratitude and warmth. So it is that I take Darius's face in my hands. Standing up on my tiptoes, I push my lips fiercely against his.

A kiss. A kindness is worth a kiss. Saving my mother's life and ensuring my family does not go hungry is worth a long, slow, deep kiss.

Darius's lips taste like soft, warm butter, and his mouth melts into mine. I feel calloused palms encircle my waist and pull me close. He holds me gently. His big, strong hands don't wander, which I appreciate. Tilting my face, I feel his lips press against mine and deepen the kiss.

Then something tickles my mouth. I realize with a gasp and a shudder that it is Darius's tongue. "Ummmm..." My lips part with the sound and suddenly Darius's tongue is in my mouth. It feels strange, to have his tongue dancing and twining about mine. Electric shocks seem to shoot from our lips down to the tips of my toes. Feeling oddly bold, I let my chilled fingers weave themselves into his long red hair, and I pull, yanking him tighter to me with a deep, guttural groan. My hooded eyelids flutter closed. "Mmmm... Hmmmmm..."

As Darius and I embrace and kiss, I don't notice my baby sister watching us through the window, her mouth agape in shock. After several moments, Darius and I break apart with a small POP!, our arms still about each other. Puffs of air from our breaths mix and mingle in the small space between us. My eyes fill with tears.

"Thank you," I choke out through the lump in my throat.

Darius beams. "You're welcome." And cupping my face, tilting my head back, he kisses me full on the mouth again. I don't fight it, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste before he draws away. "Goodnight, Katniss."

I flush, as the full weight of what I have just done hits me in the face. I _kissed_ him! And he kissed me back. "G... goodnight," I stammer with a weak smile. I watch him amble away through the snow. Closing my front door behind me and pulling the latch to, I ignore Prim's squeals and peppering questions, instead simply snapping at her to go to bed and not breathe a word of this to Mother.

I collapse into bed in relief and almost... giddiness. That night, the chiseled face of an auburn-haired Peacekeeper dances in my head...


	4. Chapter 4: Under the Lash

**Chapter 4: Under the Lash**

After Darius's and my passionate kiss the night of my mother's recovery, I tentatively agree to a romantic relationship. I allow Darius to court me, which usually consists of dates in the Hob. We share a bowl of soup at Greasy Sae's. In return, I take him to my father's old hunting cabin deep in the woods by the lake, where we spend a few hours making out. I trust him enough by now to know that he will not reveal my illegal hunting activities; besides, Cray and half of the Peacekeeper force is on the take for my felled goods. Poaching and other such foraging is not significantly clamped down on here. If anything, the Peacekeepers look the other way.

So it comes as a surprise when Darius and I are finishing a pleasant walk around Town, only to discover a crowd forming in the Square before the Justice Building. Tightening his grip on my hand, Darius leads me through the crowd until we emerge into the center of the spectacle. I clap my free hand to my mouth at the sight, tamping down a scream.

My hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, is lashed to the whipping post. It is an old, decaying structure that hasn't been used in decades, laying dormant. I honestly wonder why the thing has never been torn down (I don't think a whipping has happened since I've been alive), until I remember that it is probably illegal to tear down a structure of the Capitol.

Gale has been stripped of his shirt, so that his rippling back muscles are exposed to me. I want to run to him, cut him free, but the squeeze on my hand makes me take pause. Darius shakes his head almost imperceptibly to me, his eyes sympathetic and sad. His eyes flick somewhere off to his right, and I follow his gaze.

Two Peacekeeper officers are standing off to one side, clearly in the middle of an argument. I recognize the one pepper-gray head of hair as Cray's. The other is a cadet I am not entirely familiar with, and have only seen once or twice. Darius had mentioned to me how we got a set of new recruits recently, fresh off the train. It takes some time to break new officers into District 12's ways.

Which I am sure probably brought us to the exact problem we are facing now. No district is as lazy as Twelve.

"I caught him under the fence with a whole deer carcass!" the unfamiliar cadet is practically spitting in Cray's face.

"So fine him, Donaldson! Write up a report and put it in his file!"

"Not good enough! The lash is the best deterrent!" Donaldson insists. He sneers. "Or are you not man enough to command your own district? I'll cast a vote of no confidence if you're too yeller!"

Cray's eyes look pained. A vote of no confidence can be filed by any Peacekeeper at any time, according to Darius. More often than not, the motion results in the selection of a new Head Peacekeeper. I doubt that that would happen here, though; most of us in Twelve are loyal to Cray - not because we fear him, but because by and large he leaves us the hell alone. But it's still a risk Cray won't run. He looks sick as he accepts the offered whip from Donaldson, who grins ferally as we all watch Cray approach Gale, rear the whip back, and snap it over his shoulder blades.

"One."

Darius pulls me into his arms, so that I can stifle my sob into his shirt. I flinch at each and every crack, silently counting in my head, until, after reaching lash number 18, the noises stop. I turn my head out of Darius's arms tentatively.

"That's enough," Cray sighs heavily.

"More!" Donaldson insists.

"The boy is 18. I gave him 18 lashes. Fair is fair."

Donaldson gawps. "You're a weak, little -"

"I said that's ENOUGH!" The whip snaps so fast I hardly even see it, and Donaldson falls back into the dirt with a crash. When he rises, I see a thin line of blood across his cheek. Cray is glowering at him. "Who is in charge of this district?!"

Donaldson glares. Cray growls and snaps the whip down hard, so that it just misses his subordinate's feet.

"You are, sir," Donaldson snarls, sufficiently cowed. Cray nods once, very stiffly, then snaps his head to Darius. "Freeman, release the prisoner."

"Yes, Commander." Darius disengages me from his embrace, kisses me once gently, then cuts Gale free from his knife, before casting my best friend over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

From what I'm later told, Gale fell unconscious after the thirteenth strike. He never wakes up.

* * *

Gale's slips are quietly removed from the Reaping Bowl. His brother, Rory, takes out tesserae. I fear for his elevated chances in selection for the Games. However, in the 74th Hunger Games that summer, two nameless faces are selected for death. No one who I know, anyway. A thirteen year old from the Community Home joins an eighteen year old from the Seam as that year's tributes. They both die in the Bloodbath. Haymitch Abernathy watches their deaths with sad eyes before he drinks himself into the inevitable stupor. The boy from Two brings glory to his District. Again.

A few weeks later, I am passed along a note from Greasy Sae while trading in the Hob. I smile to see that it is from Darius, asking me to meet him by the Justice Building after he gets off his shift.

I enter the gray, imposing building, and encounter a clerk. The official, having obviously been prepared for my coming, directs me to the Head Peacekeeper's office. As I approach, I can hear raised voices behind Cray's door. I knock once, and the bickering ceases. "Come in," Cray's gruff voice harrumphs.

I enter to find the Head Peacekeeper at his desk, while standing around it are Darius and Donaldson. The latter's eyes sweep over me lecherously, and I feel Darius's body stiffen.

"Have a seat, girl," Cray instructs me wearily, and I take one in the plush armchair in the corner.

"You can't do this to me!" Donaldson screams as he turns back to Cray.

"I am the Head of this District; I can do whatever I want!" Cray snaps back. "And I want nothing to do with you! Just because we are the backwater of this country doesn't mean we deserve all the dregs who barely avoided washing out of the Academy!"

Donaldson's one hand clenches into a fist. "You're corrupt," he snarls. "You just don't want to change the way you do things here."

"Perhaps that's how you view it," Cray concedes flatly. "But I am more concerned with protecting my people. Your file isn't exactly glowing, Donaldson. They had no good things to say about you in Six. Would you like me to list them for you?"

"Please," Darius pipes up, smirking in amusement when Donaldson looks ready to kill him.

Cray also seems to barely hide his glee as he extracts a case file and begins to read. "Donaldson Trump III, born in District 2, graduated from the Academy in the bottom of his class, assigned to District 6. Stands accused on two counts of rape and battery. One count of insubordination. One count of drunk and disorderly conduct." He glances up from the rap sheet. "Need I say more?"

Donaldson's face turns a delicious shade of purple. "No."

"I'm transferring you to District 5," Cray orders flatly. "I expect you, bags packed and on the train first thing in the morning."

Donaldson's jaw drops. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, can't I? It's about all I can do, other than add one more count of insubordination to your record! Court-martialing is too good for the likes of you, Donaldson! And I can't have our women threatened by a rapist!" Cray bellows. I understand what he means. He can't fire him. He can't demote him. But Cray can make Donaldson someone else's problem. "Now get out!"

Donaldson's jaw clenches and he storms out of the office. Cray's Seam-gray eyes then turn to my boyfriend. "Peacekeeper Freeman, if you'll stay for a moment. Ms. Everdeen, I apologize for the spectacle just now. Please wait outside, if you would."

I stand, curtsey and take my leave, Darius whispering to me to wait by the door.

He emerges about five minutes later, drops a kiss to my lips. He is smiling. "Walk with me?"

Biting back a grin of my own, I nod. We stroll hand-in-hand out of the Justice Building. "Sorry you had to see the Dance of the Lemons," he apologizes.

I giggle and loop my arm through his. "Is that what they call it?"

"Getting a damaged Peacekeeper from another district? Yes," Darius sighs heavily. "Cray says it's only happened a few times. Most cadets who arrive in Twelve are wet-behind-the-ears, fresh from the Academies. This place is considered an easy first assignment. Donaldson was kicked around until he landed here, and created a disagreement in management. The culture in Six is harsher than it is here."

I nod, rubbing his arm. "What did Cray want to talk to you about?"

I am happy to see my boyfriend relax, and his grin could light up the mines. "I've been promoted. Deputy Head, under him."

I grin and softly kiss his cheek, then his lips. I've become a lot better at kissing, I feel. And when it comes to Darius, I love kissing him. "I'm proud of you," and I mean it.

Darius grins and suddenly pulling me close, kisses me back rather indecently. I moan into his mouth and accept the kiss passionately; it takes a few minutes before we break apart.

"What was that for?" I gasp, breathless.

"Because I love you, and I think you're beautiful." I flush furiously. "Want to have dinner in the Hob?"

I grin. "Lead the way."


	5. Chapter 5: Shot Down the Aisle

**Chapter 5: Shot Down the Aisle **

I watch as the pair of tributes shake hands. And just like that, I am officially free from the Reaping for the Hunger Games.

It is such a relief, to be 18, to be an adult and to be able to finally get going with life. Indeed, all around me, I watch as free boys now drop to their knees in front of their sweethearts with rings in their hands.

It has become an unofficial tradition in District 12, for 18-year-old boys who have just aged out of the Reaping to propose to their girlfriends. The Peacekeepers have never felt the need to put a damper on such festivities; in fact, most of them find it cute. I know Darius certainly does.

Indeed, here comes my boyfriend of two years now, fitted in his white uniform. He was on duty today, stationed at the edge of the square to keep the peace.

"Hi," I smile, crossing to him and we share a chaste peck on the lips. "Did you patrol go well?"

He beams. "All quiet, nothing to report." His voice drops to a low whisper. "I wanted to talk to you. Is there a good place, someplace we can go that's private?" He glances around. "I don't really want to have this conversation out in the street."

Wordlessly, I nod. I try to think. I could take him home, but Prim, Aven and my mother will there. I'd suggest the Hob, but it's going to get busy once vendors return to their stalls. But I need to get inside. I'm fighting off heat exhaustion. The last thing I need is more time standing around outside, especially now that the sun is at high noon. "There isn't any place," I tell him after a few long moments.

His face falls and he bites his lower lip. "Damn." He lets out a sigh. "I suppose we can go to my house."

"You have a house? I thought you lived in the barracks."

"I did." He fiddles with his gloves, looking everywhere but right at me. "Not anymore, after my promotion, and when you reach a certain rank, they don't let you live with the other Peacekeepers. 'Cause it promotes fraternization or some such bullshit. So do you want to come over?"

"Okay," I agree. At least it'll be private.

We walk in silence. It's really too hot for casual conversation. I try to figure out just what he wants to talk to me about that's so important, but I come up blank.

By the time we make it to his house, the sun is beating down on our backs and my temple is sweating. Darius motions for me to take a seat at his kitchen table while he putters around the house, trying to find a teakettle. He's nervous, I realize, because if he'd just stop and look, he'd see there's one resting on one of the burners of the stove.

"D-D-D-Dar?"

He turns, a question in his eyes. I point at the teakettle and he lets out a short bark of laughter. "Right. Figures it'd be in plain sight." He doesn't bother trying to continue the conversation, instead filling the kettle, letting the coolness of his house seep into our bones.

While I wait, I take in the space I can see. The whole place feels antiseptic, almost artificial. There's a monotonous sameness to it, and there's absolutely nothing anywhere that gives a hint to who the owner is. No pictures or artwork or personal items, nothing. The house is a blank slate, just waiting for someone to make it a home. Darius can't have lived here long.

A few moments later, Darius sets a steaming mug of tea down in front of me along with a bowl of sugar and pitcher of milk. I stare at them, my mouth watering. I can't remember the last time I was able to take my tea with cream and sugar. I look up at him in surprise. Somewhere along the way, he's removed his helmet and body armor, and he's wearing what looks to be long gray pants and a grayish white sweater.

He smiles at me ruefully and runs one hand through his red hair. "I've always had a bit of a sweet tooth. My brother and I used to sneak out to the sugarcane fields at night and hack off pieces to chew. I realize now how dangerous it was. If we'd gotten caught, we could've been executed. But we were kids and it was sweet." His voice is distant as he shares this memory with me. His smile softens. "So now you know my deep dark secret. I'm a sugar thief."

I can't help it. The way he says it makes me laugh, breaking the tension in the air. I fix my tea the way I prefer: heavy on the cream, heavy on the sugar. Darius hums in approval when I add three lumps to the warm amber liquid. "So what'd you want to talk to me about?" I ask after taking an exploratory sip. The tea is rich and spicy with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. This is not ordinary tea. I wonder why he's sharing it with me.

Darius sits down across from me, his striking eyes fixed on me. "You know I like you, Katniss."

I nod my head, failing to hide my amusement. Of course I do. It would be pretty hard to miss. He asked me to call him by a nickname and he kept stopping by, bringing me and my family little gifts. The chicken. Saving my mother. Our first kiss, the kiss we shared outside my house. God, he's a damn good kisser….. We've been seeing each other for two years.

Seeing that I'm not going to say anything, Darius soldiers on. "I don't want to scare you, that's the last thing I want to do, but I have feelings for you. Strong feelings. Real feelings. And now I'm in a position where I can do something about it."

I frown. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's kind of complicated, but you know Peacekeepers aren't allowed to marry?"

I nod. I remember Darius mentioned it before, but I haven't really given much thought to it. I've had more important things to worry about.

"Well, if I thought you'd say yes, and if I thought they'd allow it, I'd do the right thing and marry you." He stares down into his mug. "But I can't."

I don't know what to say, so I say nothing.

"But I can offer you the next best thing. I care about you, Katniss. Love you, even. And I can see you're struggling. If I could just give you the money outright, I would." He stirs his finger in the rich brown liquid. "But the Capitol doesn't allow that either."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

His eyes meet mine. "I want you to be my life partner."

"...Life partner?"

His cheeks flush tomato red, but he doesn't look away. "It's not as seedy as it sounds. You'd be my companion and lover while I'm deployed here. In return, I can offer you a stipend, even a place to live if you want it."

"Where?"

He looks down into his tea again. "Here. With me. You could even bring your family if you want, there's plenty of room."

My brain can't process this, so I stare at him, my tea growing cold on the table in front of me. "How… how…" I shake my head. "How long would this be for?"

"At least five years. Could be as long as nineteen."

I take a huge gulp to cover my shock. That's longer than I've even been alive. By the time our arrangement would be over, I'd be too old to start a family.

As if he's picked up on my thoughts, Darius continues. "I know that's a long time, and I'm not asking you to commit to anything you're not willing to."

"What about children?" Condoms don't work perfectly to prevent pregnancy, and that's if he's even willing to use them. I've helped my mother enough to know that. If I continue to be his lover for nineteen years, children are almost guaranteed.

I want children. But I want a husband too.

"You mean, our children?" He's unable to cover the little smile that forms when he says those words. "I'd support them, of course. They'd never have to take out tesserae, I'd make sure of that. We don't have to have them if you don't want to, that's your choice. But if you did…" The blush intensifies. "I wouldn't mind. I've always wanted a big family."

I shake my head. "I don't know what to say."

He tilts his head. "You haven't asked me about money yet. I expected that'd be the first thing you'd want to know."

He's right. I haven't. It should've been the first thing on my mind, but I've just been so blindsided by the offer that I haven't asked the most important question. "How much are you offering?"

"If you didn't want to live with me, it'd be seventy five a month."

"And if I did?"

"Well, assuming you brought your whole family with you, I'd only be able to pay you fifty. But I'd cover everything else, like food and clothes and medicine, for all of you."

That's actually a better deal. If I lived with him, I wouldn't have any expenses and I'd be able to put away a huge nest egg, so when Darius's deployment did end, I wouldn't have to work in the mines unless I wanted to.

But no one gets fifty coin a month for doing nothing. "What would I be expected to do?"

"You'd be my housekeeper and this place," he gestures around the white-walled room, "would be yours to decorate how you want. You'd get to decide what we do and what we eat. And at night, we'd curl up together and… sleep."

"Just sleep?" That seems like a lot of money just to get someone to cuddle with.

"That'd be up to you too. Eventually, I'd like to make love with you, but I don't expect it right away." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You've… gone through so much. Had to do so much. You're the strongest person I know, Katniss, that's what I admire so much about you. But everyone's got a breaking point. And the last thing I want is for me to be that pebble that sends you careening off the cliff."

I'm grateful he isn't pushing me now, but I don't know when I'll be ready to have sex. Especially with a Peacekeeper. I like Darius. Love him. Any girl would be a fool not to take his offer in a heartbeat, even with the downsides.

Even as I was half-expecting it, his proposal nonetheless shocks me. I don't answer for a long time as I think it all over, weighing all the Pros and Cons in my head. Marrying a Peacekeeper, even a Deputy Head like Darius, is exactly the kind of economic security that my family needs, that Mother would seek for me. For a poor young Seam woman like me, there are only a few options for advancing above my station. One would have been to become a Victor of the Hunger Games (a feat that District 12 has only accomplished twice in the last 76 years, and only once by a woman). More than this, I would be the wife of a Capitol official, guaranteeing for me a level of safety that the rest of the district could only dream of. There would be no hassle in being assigned a house, as all couples must go through when getting married at the Justice Building.

However, every Pro has a Con to go with it. Darius said that he could pay me fifty a month if my family and I lived with him. And if what I have seen of the accommodations in the Barracks is any indication, I highly doubt that his officer's stipend could sustain two people, especially a husband and a wife, much less his wife's family. Besides, my trades are mostly conducted through barter; rarely am I paid coins for my kills, so I would not add to Darius's income in any meaningful way. Yes, marriage to a Peacekeeper would grant me safety, but what kind of safety is left out of my control. On the one hand, it could mean my ability to conduct my illegal hunts and trading with absolutely no fear of repercussions. On the other hand, a status as a Peacekeeper's spouse could add an extra level of scrutiny that would make such hunts all but impossible.

Then there is the issue of the Barracks. Darius may have his own house, but the Peacekeepers still practice communal living. Theirs is a militarized lifestyle with relatively few opportunities for romance or sex. Marriage for them is forbidden by higher-ups in the ranks, so most cadets abstain from marriage in favor of illegitimate couplings that more often than not result in bastard children without fathers. To have a woman in their midst, even if I would be the spoken-for wife of one of their own, would not prevent Darius's comrades from trying to have their own way with me. I may be able to one day submit to being a wife, but I would be a faithful wife. Not a trophy wife and definitely not a sex toy to be passed around or otherwise change hands. Ultimately, I would be in close proximity as a form of temptation for other men, and have little privacy outside of Darius's one abode. Perhaps not even that.

Then there are the Unknowns. Would Darius expect me to sleep with him? Surely yes; it's what spouses do. And the proposition of sex has never excited me before. Besides, sex - especially the unprotected kind - often leads to babies. Babies who grow into children who are Reaped for arenas to die. Would Darius want children? He would be free to pursue fatherhood with me – Peacekeepers must be celibate, not abstinent. Before Darius, I had never wanted children or to become a mother, for fear of losing them to the Reaping. What if Darius were reassigned to another district? If I were his wife, I would feel compelled to go with him to wherever a new commission might take him, thus leaving behind my homeland and my family. Even then, would I be allowed to accompany my husband to a new assignment? I don't know. What other difficulties would come from marrying a foreigner? For Darius is not from District 12, and our people take great pride in marrying one of our own kind, right down to class. Even marriages just between Merchant and Seam - like my parents' - are rare and frowned upon. Would I be seen even more differently in taking a husband who hails from one of the Career districts?

As I am thinking all this, I have been absent-mindedly running my fingers through Darius's hair, sizing him up. I gaze into his deep sea-green eyes. Finally, I give him a hopeful smile.

"Yes," I whisper.

Darius beams, and tugs my hand so that I stand up from my chair. He pulls me into his lap, so that I am straddling him across his hips. My eyes go wide, and I falter, feeling a little shy. His one big paw of a hand then reaches up to caress my face, tucking my brown hair back behind my ear. I lean into the touch, smiling, and we gaze into each other's eyes.

We lean closer. My palms are pressed deep into his chest, and Darius's cradle my face. Our eyelids grow heavy. Finally, they droop shut as Darius and I close the gap and seal the promise of our engagement with another passionate kiss.

My arms instantly go about him, my hands gripping the head of his chair. I feel Darius's own palms splay across my back, tangle themselves into the braid of my hair. I part my lips wide for him, welcoming his tongue and we deepen the kiss.

Just then, I feel something rise beneath me, pushing up from Darius's lap. I gasp, my mouth filled with tongue, when I realize that it is Darius's erection, straining against his pants. Suddenly, I surprise even myself when I wiggle my bottom against the clear evidence of his want for me. I actually rut against him, groaning loudly, thrusting my hips into his pelvis, so that he eagerly grinds against me in return.

Before we can rip each other's clothes off and make love right in that chair, Darius and I get a hold of ourselves and we break the kiss, gasping. We can talk about having sex later. Right now, we have a wedding to plan.

* * *

It is too expensive to rent a white dress in Twelve. Only the Merchants can afford that. When my Mother left her privileged upbringing to marry my father, she did not have the bravery to smuggle her family's wedding dress away to pass down to her daughters after her.

That doesn't matter to me. I will get married in my blue Reaping dress - the nicest article of clothing I own - and be just fine. Mother, pleased that I am to wed, does up my hair for me in the mirror. Prim will be my bridesmaid.

We inconspicuously hike across town to Darius's new house just off the Peacekeeper Barracks. He has recently been promoted, to Deputy under Cray; I felt so proud when he told me.

There is no white dress, but Darius does not seem to mind. No signing of the papers in the Justice Building, or commissioning of a house. Just we two, with my mother, sister and brother as witnesses. And just the feeling in our hearts.

I show Darius how to bake the pieces of bread over the fire, as is the District 12 marriage custom, and we perform our Toasting. Splitting the piece, we share it, both of us stingy enough to not waste one crumb. Then, tilting my head, my Seam grey orbs dancing in the firelight, I permit my new husband to kiss me. He ravishes my mouth with his, and I leap into his arms, folding my limbs about him. Primrose and Mother dutifully applaud. Aven lets out a happy screech, even if he is too young to understand what's going on.

Now able to afford the amenities, Darius shows my family to their rooms. Then, sweeping me off my feet, he carries me up the stairs and across the threshold to our room, laying my down in our marriage bed. And when he kisses me furiously, I kiss him back with just as much fire, and tear at the plates of his uniform. My spouse undresses me tenderly, shimmying me out of my blue dress. I unlatch my bra and let the lingerie fall away, so that Darius can see my breasts. My panties silkily slide down my thighs to my ankles, but the fabric doesn't constrain me from spreading my legs wide and letting the man I have married slide in between them.

Grey eyes locking with sea-green ones, I guide Darius to my dripping wet entrance. If there is any time for us to have sex, it is now. It is what is done between a husband and a wife on their wedding night.

Slowly, Darius pushes into me. I let out a tiny whine at the pain, and he stops like a gentleman. After a moment, at my nod, he starts again, pushing all the way into my core down to the hilt. He pulls out. Then he slides back in, more assuredly this time. Gradually, the motion builds up to a thrust with a rhythm. Moaning, I rock my hips up to meet his. I can feel, hear our bed, creaking and swaying beneath us.

"Hmmm... Mmmm... Muhhhhh... Uhhhhhh... Guhhhh... Oh my God... Ohhhhhhh my God... Dar..." I cry out.

Darius grunts as he picks up the pace, pounding into me faster. "You're so tight... you're so beautiful... Katniss..."

"D... Darius... Oh my Goddddddddd..." I wail. Folding my legs about him, digging my heels into his buttocks, I buck against him faster, egging him on. "Darius... please... I - I love you!"

These last words are pulled from me like water cascading from my lips, as I orgasm all around my husband with a sigh. Darius slams into me once, twice more before spurting his juices deep inside of me. He collapses on top of me with a ecstatic groan, and he moves no more.

Kissing his cheek, then his lips, gently, I hold him, running my fingers through his long red hair as I fall asleep beneath him.


	6. Chapter 6: Births, Death and Marriages

**Chapter 6: Births, Death and Marriages **

I am standing over a boiling pot of soup when I hear the knock at our door. It creaks open.

"Katniss?" The gentle sound of my husband's voice.

"Kitchen, Dar!" I call. A moment later, my husband of just over a year enters our little living area. I turn about happily.

"Hey," I murmur quietly, reaching up to peck his lips chastely. "Have a good day at work?"

"I just got off patrol. On the Seam beat. All quiet, nothing to report. Your mama says hello."

Beaming, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him more deeply. "You're wonderful," I murmur into his mouth just before we break apart. But my smile doesn't quite reach up to my eyes. And Darius notices. A paw of a hand caresses my cheek.

"What's wrong, my love?"

Glancing down at my feet, I lace my fingers through his, my gaze flicking to his nervously. "Dar, I'm... I'm pregnant."

Darius's sea-green eyes go wide with surprise and a little bit of unmasked, hopeful delight. "You are?"

I nod solemnly, our joined hands coming to rest on a slight swell of my stomach. "Yes, I am." There is a moment of silence as I dare myself to gaze fully up into his face. I see the joyful anticipation there, and shrink back, even as Darius's arms wrap about my waist and hold me fast. "Oh, God, you _do_ want to have it, don't you?"

Darius blushes as red as his hair and smiles at my shyly. "Yes. Look, I know we have discussed this. I know how afraid you are, of any children of ours going into the Games. And it's only right for you to feel that way. But remember - our baby will never have to take out tesserae. And I could curry favor with Cray, maybe try and ensure he or she isn't picked from the Bowl."

"That's not enough, Dar," I whisper sadly. "There is always a chance. It only takes one slip."

Darius ficks a finger under my chin, tilting it back to look me full in the face. "You're right. One slip. But one in thousands. And if the worst happens... we'll have each other." He takes me in his arms and rocks me gently. "I'll protect you. I love you."

My tears fall onto the white, armored plates of his uniform. "I love you, too." I whimper, tamper down a sob. Then: "All right."

Darius stirs against me. "All right?"

I step out of the embrace and nod. "All right. Let's have this baby."

* * *

Nine months later, after 23 hours of agonizing labor, I give birth to my first-born son. I name him Finnick. Finnick Odair Freeman, after Darius's brother, and who by all rights is my child's uncle. It is hard to imagine that I am related to a Hunger Games Victor by marriage, and even harder that only myself and my husband and our newborn baby will know that.

When Finn is about a month old, Darius and I wake up in our bed one morning on a lazy Saturday. I had already risen with the sun to give Finn his morning feeding, returning to our bedroom to hear Darius getting off the phone with Cray. Our house is connected to a secure landline with direct access to the Head Peacekeeper; occasionally, my husband will receive orders from his boss in this fashion.

Darius hangs up as I slide back under the covers and snuggle up next to him. He presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

"Cray asked me to hold off, come in later today. The boys on the night beat had a quiet time of it. Besides: Reaping's tomorrow, and set-up is just about done, according to Purnia."

"Hmm," I acknowledge, suddenly worried. Tomorrow will be Prim's fifth Reaping, out of seven total. At 16, she has five chances to be selected for death. Thank heavens it isn't more - after marrying Darius, I never had to take out tesserae, and Darius's wages as Deputy Head Peacekeeper have ensured that my sister won't either. My family is well cared for, to be sure. All the same, five slips is five slips too many for my taste. I hope she is spared tomorrow.

Darius slips out of bed, the absence of his warmth making me whine and reach for him. "Where are you going?"

"I may not be on duty for a bit, but that doesn't mean I can't get ready," my husband starts to change into his uniform, buckle his holster and load his gun. He placates me by kissing me briefly on the mouth, and chuckling at my pouty expression. "I'll make you breakfast, honey." I listen for his heavy tread going down the stairs in his boots; after a few moments, I rise, rustle Finn from his crib, and follow.

Darius is at the skillet, frying up some bacon. "Here, give him to me," he offers, reaching for our son.

"I got it," I smile gently. "Bottle?"

He fills it with warm milk, and passes it to me, laughing at how Finn gurgles and wiggles his fingers greedily for it. As soon as it is within his reach, he latches onto the nipple and begins to suckle. With a tiny smile, I rock him. We have started introducing milk by bottle in recent days, in the hopes that I can wean Finn from my breastfeeding quickly. Thank heavens he has another dozen years until he is eligible for the Games. I hope that accursed day never comes.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek is heard from clear up the hill, up in Victor's Village. Darius opens up the door to our home, shaking his head. "What the devil -?" I come to dutifully stand behind him in my nightgown, our little boy at my breast. A moment later, we see Effie Trinket's indigo wig bobbling ridiculously as she comes pelting down towards the Peacekeeper Barracks.

"Effie! What's happened?" my husband demands.

"He's dead!" the poor escort screams. "The poor bastard is all decomposed and everything!"

Darius's eyes go wide. Turning to me, he kisses me softly. "Stay here!" He orders, and takes off running, hand flicking towards the holster and his gun. Bouncing the baby gently, I obey. I watch my husband disappear over the crest of the hill nervously. What could have possibly happened to old Haymitch Abernathy? We soon find out. According to the district coroner, the Victor and drunk slipped on an empty beer bottle and tumbled nastily down the stairs. He's been dead for ten months.

* * *

Two years later, I curse myself and my husband for allowing him to touch me and make love to me in our bed ever again. But I can deny my sweet love nothing, for Darius holds my hand and kisses me sweetly throughout the many hours of childbirth. Finally, I emerge from childbed, with Elsa, a darling baby girl. I named her after my mother. And her arrival is actually a welcome celebration, to congratulate Primrose for surviving her last Reaping this summer, just a few weeks before.

Elsa is only a few weeks old when Darius returns from a court guarding post - the force had recently caught a Seam thief stealing from the Merchant greengrocer - with our mail. He has also taken it upon himself to patrol Victor's Village, a new policy that he suggested to Cray after the Haymitch Abernathy fiasco. Scrolling through a small stack of bills, he comes to the final envelope and slices it open with his penknife. Scanning the first few lines, his handsome face breaks out into a beaming smile.

"Ah! The new Baker is getting married! He's invited us to his Toasting this Saturday evening."

I straighten from where I have been placing Elsa into her bassinet with a curious frown. "Peeta Mellark?"

"That's the one. He's marrying Nata, the confectioner's daughter."

My brow creases further in piqued curiosity. Back before I was married and became pregnant, back when I used to hunt, I would often trade squirrel at the back loading dock door of the Mellark Bakery. Peeta's father was the Baker then, he only just recently retired. His youngest son, Peeta, always insisted that I be given the freshest bread possible. We were classmates together in school, though we never spoke at all. I never know what I would have said to him, especially after he first tossed some burnt bread to me when I was 11. Daddy had been working off an injury that kept him off his feet for good few months - mine explosion - so we were living solely off of Mother's Healer income. Peeta's intercession was a kindness I have never forgotten, nor for which I have thanked him.

I suppose the least I could do is attend his wedding, though I have never been one for parties. I have attended Capitol-District 12 government functions on Darius's arm since becoming his wife, but only out of loyalty to him. Wishing for him to succeed. I smile tightly. "How lovely. I'll wear my blue dress."

* * *

The Baker's wedding is only attended by a tight inner circle of friends. Only about 20 people, including my husband and I, can fit into the back storage room of the Bakery, where Peeta and his new bride Toast a bit of pumpernickel bread over their meager hearth fire and share it. Nata is the confectioner's daughter. I have only seen her in Town a few times; when Prim and I were younger, we would often stop beside the candy store's window to admire the goodies on our way home from school. The same was true of the bakery, though we very rarely had enough money to afford treats, except with the little birthday money we received each year from Mother and Daddy.

As I observe the ceremony curiously, I notice how Peeta and Nata's motions and words are flat, correct, as they exchange their vows. There appears to be no love, no affection in their eyes, as Peeta stoops to kiss his bride after they are pronounced husband and wife. No love in the way that Darius and I shared during our wedding.

My heart breaks for Peeta, just a little. The poor man. This is an arranged marriage if I ever saw one. Many Merchant marriages are; very rarely do people in Town marry for love. Parents will betroth their children together, sometimes from a very young age; very rarely are these kinds of contracts broken. Rarer still do these marriages based on economics and advantages turn into marriages based on true love. These marital alliances are usually crafted in the hopes of ensuring a baby, an heir to carry on the family business. Peeta's two older brothers have already married into more prominent Merchant families and will one day inherit those businesses; the destiny of the Bakery will fall to Peeta, and whatever child (preferably a son) comes after him.

There is light, polite applause upon Peeta and Nata sharing their wedding kiss, and the crowd presses in to wish the newlyweds well. When Peeta reaches Darius and I, his face breaks into the first smile all evening; to my shock, he gives me a big hug, holding it for longer than I ever expected him to. Stepping out of the embrace with that same, dazzling smile, he pumps Darius's hand.

"Darius, Katniss! Thank you, thank you for coming!"

That night, as I dance in Darius's arms, I can't help but watch Peeta and Nata sharing their first dance as husband and wife... and feel a strange constricting on my heart.

* * *

I am busy chopping up vegetables at the chopping board to put into our rabbit stew for tonight's dinner. I got a good deal on the carcass shopping from Rooba, the butcher, in the Hob this morning. Five-year-old Finn runs around at my feet; with a shriek, Elsa toddles after him. A gurgle follows, and I glance back with an affectionate smile at my youngest son, Kirkman, who is pulling himself up to a standing position in his mobile crib.

Darius is out late tonight, on the night-owl patrol beat. I promised him something hot on the table when he comes home.

That must be him now, as I hear a fierce rap on the door. I happily run to open it, expecting to throw myself into his arms and give him a big, wet kiss.

But it is not my husband on the threshold waiting for me. I shrink back, slightly startled, but keep the smile on my face when I see Mother and my sister. They looked haggard, and that's when I remember that they got a call clear across Town this morning. Nata, the Baker's wife, was having a baby. It must have been a long labor, as Mother and Primrose trudge themselves into our house.

"How was the birth? How is the Baker?" I ask, my smile faltering as Mother and Prim rest themselves heavily in chairs around our kitchen table. I bite my lip when no answer is forthwith right away.

Mother's cerulean, Merchant eyes finally rise to meet mine. "Nata is dead. She died during the birth."

I nearly drop the carving knife I've been holding. Across from me, my 21-year-old sister bursts into tears. She has only been training to be a midwife for a few years, and though losing the mother in such procedures has become less common due to Mother's skill, the occurrence is nonetheless nerve-wracking to her.

"There was blood," Prim sniffles. "Blood everywhere. The baby is alive and healthy, a boy, but..."

"What about the Baker?" I whisper, heart in my throat.

Mother coughs through what I think might be a stifled sob. "Grief-stricken, of course. I only hope he can move past it. For the boy's sake."

No, Peeta will move past it, I think to myself. He will mourn his wife's death, but I doubt that he will remarry. He has his son, his heir. That was the sole purpose of entering into a loveless marriage, what it was for, and that purpose has been served, though at a terrible price.

But, I fear for Peeta's son, and how his survival is now in jeopardy. I think of how Aven was, at an age not much older, with a father dead and a mother willing herself towards death. Of course, Aven is slated for Reaping age; his first will be next year. And Peeta's death is not feared physically, but rather emotionally.

I refuse to allow Peeta's son to be compromised and practically become an orphan just as he begins life.

* * *

It is this resolution that compels me to, impulsively, approach the Baker about a month after Nata's death and ask him to bring his son, named Wheat, over to our house to play with Kirkman. Our boys are about the same age - Kirkman about two months older than Wheat - so the situation is ideal. The fact that one baby is Merchant and the other Seam doesn't matter to me. I am half-Merchant myself, and my babies have more... upper-class blood from their father's side.

It is what finds me now, on the front stoop of my home, the Baker at my side, watching Wheat and Kirkman crawling around in the grass. They have two built-in babysitters in the form of Finn and Elsa, who dutifully hover, ready to right them should either infant fall over.

I feel warmth enclose my fingers as the Baker squeezes my hand. "Thank you."

I just manage to meet his eyes and shrug. "Well, you fed me once." With this kindness, I feel I can repay the debt I still owe him. We share an oddly charged look before quickly looking away.

* * *

I barely feel the burning heat beating down on my head as the Reaping for the 83rd Annual Hunger Games concludes. I feel immense relief as Rory Hawthorne, Hazelle's second oldest boy, is finally free from eligibility in the sick contest forever. I watch his crop of Seam hair fall out of the 18-year-old pen with a cheer, jostling around as if he is looking for someone.

And find someone he does. My sister, Primrose. From afar, I watch him pick her up and spin her around before setting her down and talking animatedly. He appears to be presenting her with something, and when I see the object catch in the sunlight, I gasp.

Just before Rory tilts Primrose's head back and kisses her full on the mouth.

I always marveled at how someone three years my sister's junior could stand a full head taller than her. Though I suppose the Hawthornes have all possessed exceptionally tall genes. I stare, mouth agape, as Prim stiffens in Rory's embrace until a moment later, they break apart from the kiss. My baby sister looks absolutely stunned, peering up into Rory's hopeful faith. That took real courage, to propose to her like that, and I wonder just how long Rory has been saving up for the ring.

I suddenly feel arms encircle me, spin me about, and then lips are crushing against mine in a searing kiss. Recognizing their taste anywhere, I close my eyes and swoon with a pleased groan, kissing my husband back.

"Mmmmhmmmmmm... Dar... Mmmmm... Look." Turning about in his embrace, I feel Darius's gaze follow mine. We both look just in time to see Primrose seize Rory's shirt in her fist, before she is pushing her lips against his in a passionate kiss of her own. As the couple's arms go about each other, the ring glints in the light as Rory deftly works it onto my sister's finger.

I peer up at Darius happily, and only his euphoria matches mine and my sister's. "I always did like the Hawthorne boy. It will be nice to have him in the family." A flicker of sadness storms up in those sea-green orbs of his as he remembers Gale, but then it is gone again as he grins, "I have news." Dipping his face close to mine, he whispers in my ears. "Cray is retiring. I have been named his successor."

I stare at him, eyes shining. Head Peacekeeper! My husband's salary will double comfortably, and his ambition will have reached its peak. He has achieved a lifelong dream at last. I softly smile. "Let's have another baby," I blurt out. "Kiss me."

Darius blinks in astonishment, before he ecstatically takes me by my waist, his one paw of a hand cupping the curved flesh of my rear through my blue Reaping dress. His other arm crooking at the elbow around my neck, he kisses me on the mouth soundly. Closing my eyes, I melt into the kiss, pulling my lover closer with a pleased, guttural groan. And as Darius and I embrace and kiss, I can hear the piercing shriek of fireworks as someone lets them go whizzing into the midday sky.

Of course, our bliss will be short-lived, because, while one future member of the Everdeen family is free from the Reaping, a current member of the Everdeen family has only just survived his first, and will be subjugated to it again this time next year.


	7. Chapter 7: Ave(n) Maria

**Chapter 7: Ave(n) Maria**

Sadly, try as we might, no matter how many times Darius and I have sex, we fail to conceive the fourth child we both want. For the next six years, we make love with abandon and often, and for six years, the pregnancy slip comes back negative.

Meanwhile, my baby brother grows up strong, handsome. A heartbreaker. Like Mother. Like Daddy. He inherits the bow that I surrendered in accepting marriage and motherhood, going out into the woods seemingly without fear. If anything, Darius worries about his hunting trips more than I do, despite the fact that he is now Head Peacekeeper, and District 12 law is what my husband says it is. Darius's influence can only protect Aven so much - suppose a rogue Peacekeeper like Donaldson catches him?

Before I can blink, it is Aven's final year of eligibility for the Reaping. And it is with great joy that I discover that I am finally pregnant. I am under no illusions that my likely last pregnancy will be as smooth at 32 than my first was at only 20. But I welcome the challenge. And Darius praises me with a passionate make-out session and wild celebration sex on the kitchen floor.

Unfortunately, days later, my euphoria is shattered by Aven Kirkman Everdeen's name being called as the male tribute in the 90th Hunger Games. His final year of eligibility. And with no Victor, no mentor to help him. No winner from District 12 in the last four decades to turn to. His district partner is a wealthy Merchant, the Postmaster's daughter.

When I visit my little brother in the Justice Building, my three little ones clinging to him and me and sobbing (even Darius manages to make an appearance and say farewell, despite his busy duties), Aven is resolute. Determined. I remind him how he is an Everdeen, a hunter. Get to a bow. And if they don't have a bow, then you make one. I kiss him goodbye, let him touch my still flat stomach to say farewell to his unborn niece or nephew, and then Darius's deputies lead us away.

Aven puts up one hell of a fight. He makes it through the Bloodbath, several Gamemaker traps, a Feast skirmish, then a second. It is down to the Final Four: Aven, the girl from One, the boy from Five, and the boy from Ten. They have been in the arena for close to two weeks.

The Gamemakers call for a Feast. Standing in the square, I beg for my little brother not to go, but of course, he doesn't listen. The girl from One ambushes him at the horn before he can ready his bow, hacking him to death before moving on to mow down the preteen runt from Five. In my anger and grief, I feel no pity for her when she is finally felled by the eventual Victor, the boy from Ten.

I spend several sleepless nights in Darius arms, weeping and mourning my brother. But, like Peeta Mellark before me regarding the death of his wife, Nata, I come to accept his death as just another reality of living in Panem. Nine months later, when my daughter is born, I name her Ave after him.

* * *

Darius and I have seventeen joyful years of marriage together, and almost two decades of being romantically involved. But like all things in Panem, even my marriage comes to a tearful end.

The end comes when Darius suffers a fall in our home. He trips on one of little Kirkman's toys and tumbles down the stairs. At first, he laughs it off, telling me that he pulled a "Haymitch." For a time, I laugh with him.

At least until Mother shows me the Xray of my husband's fractured hip, and how it has healed all wrong.

With his injury, my husband's mobility is severely compromised. He is forced into retirement at the age of 39. While he could re-enlist, it would not be in District 12. Purnia, the new Head Peacekeeper and a close family friend (she was my husband's partner when he was first a cadet, at the start of his career, and has served loyally as his Deputy Head) would have the authority to commission him to whatever district she wishes. Such an assignment could last up to ten years, at least until Darius could apply for a honorable discharge. Rather than have any reminders of what he's lost, what he still stands to lose, Darius chooses retirement. But even in this, he is to be taken away from me. For all retired Peacekeepers are automatically recalled, withdrawn to the place of their birth. Which means Darius must return to District 4, his homeland.

It doesn't matter that pretty much all in Twelve know that I am the Head Peacekeeper Emeritus's wife and the mother of his four children. Our marriage was never formally recognized in a District 12 court of law. We never wed before the district clerk, nor were we ever assigned a house from the Justice Building. Darius and I married through a Toasting, sealed with a kiss, and while customary this does not hold sway in the eyes of district or Panemian law. Peacekeepers are not allowed to marry, so that if and when a cadet or officer is transferred, they cannot transplant any roots they may have sown here. In being the children of a Peacekeeper, my babies are an exception rather than the rule in that their parents have stayed together and faithful to each other. Other Peacekeeper spawn are viewed as illegitimate, raised in broken homes.

So it is with a heavy heart that I and my four children, along with Mother and Prim and Rory, gather at the District 12 train station to wish my husband farewell. I am dressed in my blue dress, with a shawl over my shoulders to keep out the chilly autumnal air.

My three older kids cling to their father and cry, Elsa loudest of all. Finn, the eldest at fifteen, and Kirkman - now the men of the house - are doing their level-best not to cry, though the crack in their voices is apparent.

Darius kisses each of our babies, then hugs my family farewell. Mother leads Rory, Primrose and the children off the platform and out of sight, to give me a few moments alone with my husband.

Darius cups my face in his hands and tilts it back, so that we are gazing into each other's eyes. He caresses my cheeks with his thumbs, catching the tears that stream down my face. "I wish you could come with me."

I smile weakly. "I will be with you... in here." I rest a palm flat against his chest.

Darius beams and we share a chaste kiss, pecking our lips together softly. "I told you when I proposed to you that you and our children would be well provided for."

I beam at him lovingly, happily reminiscing. Yes, I do remember. And Darius has been true to his word. More than true. He has left to me all he can, what he thinks he can get away with, and more. His lifelong pension from being Head Peacekeeper. His retirement funds. His life savings. If Purnia notices, she has never let on and perhaps even looked the other way. She has already promised me that she will try and help me, her predecessor's district-wife. Make sure no one hassles the old Head's retirement widow. I promise to support her rule in return. After all, District 12 is a cushy district for Peacekeepers. Easy. Not like Eleven or Seven. As for my husband, he has expressed to me that his plan, upon reaching District 4, is to live with his famous brother in their Victor's Village for a little while and figure things out from there. Darius seems more than confident his brother, Finnick, will take him in.

The train whistle blows. "All aboard!" the conductor calls.

With a strangled gasp, I leap into Darius's arms and he pulls me close. Our lips crash together in a heated kiss, our mouths quickly parting to welcome each other's tongues that now battle for dominance. Darius feels me up, cupping my bum, my breasts, and with an aroused groan, I hitch my leg to his waist. Push my breasts up against his chest. We are practically rutting against each other like two teenagers, reminding me of how we would make love when we were first married. I rock against Darius's pelvis; he nips my bottom lip lightly, eliciting a moan. "Mmmmm... Hmmmmm..."

Soon, Darius is bracing me against the station wall and we are full-blown making out. Somewhere far, far away, the train whistle blows. Just before the last whistle sounds, Darius and I softly break the kiss at last.

"Goodbye, Katniss, my darling wife. And thank you." Darius boards the train and waves, gazing at me, eyes only for me, until the last. As the locomotive disappears, I blow him one last kiss.

* * *

After Darius leaves, I try to find a place for myself. By now, I am 35 years old, and the mother of four children. The oldest is 15, the youngest is not quite four. Ave will barely remember her father. Finn will never forget, and he adjusts to his daddy's departure the hardest. I try to find a place for myself. But I have spent the past seventeen years as a mother and a wife, taking care of one man, his house, and his children. Our children. I don't know what else to do with myself. I am no longer the girl who hunts in the woods, the girl who vowed to never fall in love or marry and bear children. I have long forgotten where my father hid his bow. Aven was the last Everdeen to use it; for all I know, he hid it someplace else. I haven't been under the fence in over a decade. And with that fact, I now no longer know how I am going to feed my children. Darius's savings and pension - my inheritance - will only take me so far. And whatever assistance Purnia has promised to give will not ease the pain of losing my husband, the love of my life. Her help won't put food in my children's mouths.

How am I going to raise my babies?


	8. Chapter 8: Nanny, Housekeeper, Wife

**Chapter 8: Nanny, Housekeeper, Wife**

The answer comes to me one morning like a bolt of lightning. Peeta. Peeta Mellark has always been kind and good to me. He will understand if I must come to him for assistance. And so, though my pride would normally forbid me from ever doing so, I approach the Baker at his home one morning, by the back loading dock. In the years since Nata's death, he has never remarried. Still lives alone in the bakery with only his young son, Wheat, for company. Wheat is best friends with my youngest son, Kirkman, has been since they were babies.

"Is there anything I might do to help you around the bakery?" I ask Peeta. We have become close as a result of our families playing together; I like to think he is my friend. And in a place like District 12, where you can starve to death in safety, friends are certainly needed.

Peeta looks delighted by my inquiry. He has heard of how my husband was forced to separate from me. "I have seen you have been struggling lately, Katniss. I am in need of a nanny for Wheat. If you want to come by and mind him during the day...?"

My throat clogs thick with unshed tears and emotions. "Oh, thank you!" I cheer, actually pulling him into a hug. Peeta holds it for a beat longer than I imagined he would, and when he lets go, he looks pleased.

"Well, all right, then," he smiles shyly. "You can start tomorrow."

Wheat is only ten years old, and an easy child. Ever conscientious, Peeta suggested that I bring my little ones over, perhaps recruit Finn and Elsa to help. "I would hate to think that I am keeping a mother away from her children," he apologizes.

I brush his concerns away with a smile. "Wheat needs a mother too, Peeta," I point out.

His eyes as blue as a summer sky dim slightly. He still thinks of Nata, even after all these years. I place a gentle hand on his shoulder, give him another easy smile. "My children will be fine, Peeta. Finn is plenty old enough, and besides, Prim will look after them." This my sister willingly does, having my children stay over at her house while I care for Wheat during the day.

* * *

My maternal instincts serve me well, and I begin to care for the Baker's home as well as his child, almost on autopilot. While Wheat is taking a nap, or working in the front of the shop with his father, I make myself busy by cleaning up around the house. I clean all the linens. I dust the curtains. I scrub and wash the tiles in the bathroom and wax the hardwood floors spotless. The first time Peeta notices, I have already sorted and cleaned his entire single room from top to bottom.

"Would you like to be my housekeeper?" he asks me one evening after I have put Wheat to bed. When I stare at him in surprise, he blushes and admits, "It's nice to have a lady around the house again. I can pay you fifty coin a week, in addition to what you already make. Would that be all right?"

Gaping at him, and with an acute and startling blush to my cheeks, I eagerly nod.

And so, I often find myself still at the Bakery late into the evening, keeping house for the Baker. Short of cooking, that is, which Peeta readily handles, although I occasionally help. He teaches me how to knead dough and bake bread, affording us the opportunity to talk for hours. I trust that Finn will be able to lead his siblings home from Aunt Prim's house and back to his Grandma's. We moved in with Mother not long after Darius had left. Purnia seemed pained to be kicking us out, but our former home was always meant for the Head Peacekeeper and whatever family he or she might decide to build within it. At first, Purnia had offered to put us up right where we were and simply build a bigger home for herself, but I told her not to fuss and waste the money. I often don't make the walk across Town and back into the Seam until late into the night, after my children are asleep.

* * *

The moon is already high in the sky late one night, several months later. Its glow is peeking through the storm clouds, which bring down on District 12 a heavy rain. I put Wheat down to bed an hour ago, and have just been finishing tidying up the kitchen, in preparation for the next day's batch of bread. Pausing at the back loading dock, I fasten my shawl to the brooch around my neck. Peeta is there to see me off.

"Let me at least walk you home, Katniss! That storm looks bad!"

I give him a gentle smile. "I will be fine, Peeta. My babies need me..."

"Finn can look after them till morning! Stay the night, please!" His hand suddenly encloses over mine as it reaches for the doorknob. I feel something akin to an electric shock jolt through me and we both freeze.

The gaze we now share is heated, smoldering. Blue orbs not leaving mine of gray, Peeta reaches out a paw of a hand - calloused and burned from years working at the ovens - and pushes a strand of brown hair back away from my face. I let out a shaky breath and unconsciously feel my face lean into the warmth of his palm. Though I hold his stare evenly.

"Peeta..." I ask slowly. "Why do you want me to stay with you?"

Peeta is gazing at me helplessly. "Because... because I love you. I've loved you since the first day of school, when we were five years old. I... I heard you sing beautiful enough to make the birds fall silent."

I gasp, my cheeks tinging with red. "Wh... why didn't you say anything?"

Now it is Peeta's turn to blush. "My mother would never have allowed me to court you. She has always suspected that I have feelings for you, so I dated and married Nata because I knew it would shut her up." He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to speak. "It was wrong of me, I know. But Nata didn't mind, and she and I agreed that we would be together to keep our parents happy... and give them a grandson out of it. Heck, when... just before she passed, she made me promise her something."

By now, I feel a warm hand slide about my waist and pull me closer. Peeta's other hand is tangled in the curls of my hair, playing with my braid. His mouth is hovering much to close to mine, and I feel my breathing grow erratic. My heart feels like it is pounding in my ears. My eyelids have grown heavy. "What did she say?" I whisper.

Peeta's blue eyes have become irises of fire. "She said if I ever had a chance... to go after you."

I feel my one palm pressing lightly into Peeta's chest. My other has now wound up to curl into the blonde strands of his hair. Tilting my head oh so gently back, Peeta presses his lips firmly against my own. The Baker kisses me full on the mouth, as our lips meet in a searing kiss.

My brain powers down, rapidly switches off. As Peeta's lips curve and seal themselves around my remarkably pliant ones, I let out a tiny, pleased hum. "Ummmmm..." The noise vibrates my vocal cords until my lips part just enough for his tongue to slither into my inviting mouth. I grant it passage, and it disappears greedily down my throat. I unconsciously drape my arms around Peeta's neck as we mutually deepen the kiss, my one hand fisting along the white fabric of his shirt. My other hand sinks itself deeper into his hair, and I _pull_, yanking him closer with an aroused, guttural groan. "Mmmmhmmmmmm..." I close my eyes.

Meanwhile, Peeta's calloused, meaty hands grope lower. They dip past my waist and the curve of my hips. His one strong palm cups me audaciously, gripping and caressing the curved flesh of my rear through my blue dress. The other, meanwhile, cradles the swell of my right breast. He squeezes there, ever so gently, squeezes me like the dough he has molded in his soft hands all his life, and I whimper. I feel my breasts rise to meet his skin, my pink nipple becoming erect as it strains against my bodice.

It is only then that the tiny part of my brain that has not yet surrendered reminds me: another man is touching me... another man is kissing me... and I am kissing him back. When I have a husband I love, real as the sun in the sky. Only Darius is gone, and Darius is never coming back. Though he is not dead, he might as well be. And besides... the law technically says that I am not married.

I yield to Peeta at last.

"Mmmmmmm..." I sigh into Peeta's passionate, insisting mouth, pushing my swelling breasts up against his toned chest muscles and rubbing them there. I have no idea what Peeta Mellark likes to see from a woman, but maybe he shall enjoy this. Next instant, Peeta sweeps my leg up and I raise it with no resistance, hooking my thigh around his waist. The Baker pushes his thigh into the space between my legs and my core sings, already pulsing and dripping wet with want. I rub it up against him, making my intentions clear, even as I snap a wrist out to brazenly cup the Baker between his legs. Clench his erection in my fist and stroke it. Groom him for me. Peeta growls with pleasure.

With that, I make the final leap into Peeta's arms, folding my legs about him. We stagger down the basement stairs to the storeroom, our lips digging and snapping and biting and becoming bruised as we furiously make out. Clearing a work table with a clatter and one sweep of his hand, Peeta hoists me onto the varnished wood, laying me gently on my back.

"Mmmm... Peeta..." I mumble into his lips. His cock gives a violent twitch against my palm and as he clambers desperately on top of me, I eagerly spread my legs wide for him.

Our fingers are clawing at each other now, tearing any offending fabric nearly in two. Peeta unclasps the brooch at my neck and my shawl pools to the floor. He makes quick work of my bodice and bra, revealing my pink, womanly curves to the world. They have become more buxom with childbearing and nursing, yet they fit into the palm of Peeta's hand perfectly, as if my breasts were made for him to touch.

Peeta's kisses into my mouth become more insistent, more frantic, and he soon mouths down my face and jawline. Eyes rolling into the back of my head, I keen into him eagerly.

"Peeta, I... oooooh... please... don't stop!" I gasp.

He doesn't, now taking my nipple between his puckered lips and he begins to suckle. My eyes pop open wide and I growl.

"Oh my god... Ohhhhh my God, Peeta!"

My fingers begin to tear the seam of his zipper, unclasp the buckle. I wrench the button open and I yank him free, so that his manliness stands at attention before me. With Peeta's face buried and gnawing between the valley of my breasts, he doesn't see me blush. I must say, I am impressed with his girth. Size has never mattered to me, as my husband was quite big himself.

I feel the lace of my panties silkily slip down my thighs and I open my legs as far as they will go, the fabric of my knickers becoming strained and in danger of ripping. Peeta finally stops feasting on my breasts, ravishes my mouth one more time, and our eyes lock. Bravely, never more sure of anything in my life, I nod.

With one plunge, he takes me.

My irises become wide as saucers and I yelp, Peeta silencing my tiny yip with a hand clasped over my flushed and very kissed mouth. Slowly, and then faster and faster, he begins to work up a rhythm, thrusting into me and I snap my hips up to meet his in perfect time. Our sweaty bodies slam together with a delicious snapping sound; beneath us, the wood of the table creaks in protest as it sways and we sway with it. Soon Peeta replaces his hand with his mouth, swallowing my lips whole in a dizzying kiss. I swoon.

"Mmmmmmm... Hmmmmm... Huhhhhh... Uhhhh... Guhhhhh! Grrrruhhh! Ooohmmmmm..." I am making noises shamelessly, as I bounce up and down and wriggle against him. I feel the warmth building in my core, hot as one of the Baker's ovens, hotter and hotter. I feel a sudden tremor, a hum, as Peeta purrs through his kiss into my mouth:

"I love you, Katniss."

And since I have never had sex without love before, this makes me cleave in two. My walls clench around him.

"MMMMM-HMMMMMM!" I whimper, scream into Peeta's mouth, as my entire body vibrates violently through my orgasm. The Baker makes me cum so hard, I see stars, and I float very gently back to Earth, almost as if on the wings of a bird.

Another weak slam, two, and with a mighty grunt, Peeta spills all the seed he has into me.

We lay like that for a while on that tabletop, weak and shivering from the exertion. Though we have never felt so warm. My mind is in such a foggy haze that I barely register it when Peeta slurs, blurts out:

"Will you marry me, Katniss?"

My ravished mouth, plump and rouged from kissing him, unhinges into an astonished 'O'. Did Peeta Mellark just propose marriage to me? Yes, the Baker really did just ask me to marry him! My children and I would no longer have to live with Mother. I could live here, work here. Kiss and caress and make sweet love to someone who clearly loves me. A man who has been so lonely, and is really kind and gentle. A good father to Wheat, and I know he will be one to my four children. A good husband to Nata, though she was not the woman he wanted. A good man.

And so, turning his face to mine, cupping his cheek, I softly kiss him, the sound of our lips coming together echoing through the storeroom.

"Yes," I whisper with a nod.

* * *

When Peeta first offered to let me wear Nata's bequeathed wedding dress, I balked at first. The garment was a heirloom from her confectioner family, and besides, I didn't have nor need such fancy clothes to get married in when I wed Darius. But I try it on, anyway, and when Peeta tells me breathlessly that I look beautiful, I know I cannot refuse him.

We decide to compromise. When we stand before the district clerk and get married in the Justice Building, sign the marriage license, I wear my blue Reaping dress. When we perform our Toasting, in the back room of the Bakery over its little hearth, I wear Nata's wedding dress. Now _my_ wedding dress. Lovingly, Peeta and I exchange rings and vows.

"Peeta Mellark, with this ring, I thee wed," I say softly, solemnly. Then we share the toasted bit of bread - it tastes of nuts and berries - as the minister smiles.

"I now pronounce this couple man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Peeta takes me in his arms and tilting my face, I permit my husband to kiss me. And kiss me he does - passionately. I close my eyes happily and return, deepen the kiss, holding him close and falling limp in Peeta's arms as Mother, Prim, Rory, our children and some of Peeta's friends all cheer. I kiss my second husband as indecently as I like, knowing that his mother will never see. The Witch does not approve of her youngest son taking another wife, least of all taking a Seam woman as his chosen bride. Peeta's father, the former Baker, was cowed by her into not attending our nuptials. Peeta seems more bothered about his parents' non-attendance than I am. "You would think she would not be so prejudiced," he tells me one night, as we cuddle and kiss by the fire. "You were the wife of the Head Peacekeeper."

I shrug. "I was still born Seam, Peeta. My babies are at least one-quarter Seam. Once Seam, always Seam. It doesn't bother me."

My family and I move into the Bakery not long after Peeta and I become engaged. Each of the four in my brood take the news that they will be gaining a stepfather with various degrees of enthusiasm. Ave, the baby, takes to calling Peeta 'Daddy,' much to Finn's horror. Finn would never call another man 'Daddy.' He will never forget the father that was torn from him, from us. I tell myself it will be OK. Peeta loves me. And I love him in return. After all, he is kind and good and gentle, and how can I resist that? Even more, he loves my children. And I get to become a new mother, to Wheat.

And speaking of new mothers, it is with great happiness that I one day feel my stomach swelling. Feel my breasts ballooning as they take in a mother's milk. Five years into my second marriage, I feel life with me. I am great with child.

And though I am already peaking at age 40, I decide to bear a child one last time. Peeta's child. I love children, my old ways having been long killed by motherhood, by welcoming my first baby twenty years before. And seeing the way that Peeta dotes on our shared brood of five - even Finn has come to grant him his respect - I want to give him this. I want to be the mother to Peeta's child. We are happy together, as happy as one can be in Panem.

* * *

It is on a dark and stormy night, much like the night that the Baker seduced me and we first made sweet love, that I give birth. 17 hours of agonizing, straining labor. Peeta holds my hand and kisses my brow, even as I cry for him and then curse him in the next breath. Even after I fall unconscious in hour 10. When I wake up, I am told the birth almost killed me, and were it not for my mother's impeccable skill, it very well may have.

Peeta's and my baby girl is born sleeping and still. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, cutting off all oxygen. Not even Mother's desperate attempts at resuscitation can kick-start her quiet little heart. With tears in my eyes, I name Peeta's and my little girl, my fifth child - really the sixth of my brood - Peace. My husband and I bury our little girl in the same grave where Aven rests. Another senseless death. Peeta holds me gently in his arms as I weep, sob and wail for her that night.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The revolution comes quickly. Suddenly. Without warning. Without a spark or a symbol. From a long forgotten District Thirteen, fiery death rains down upon the Capitol. It's the dying act of a dying district. But it's the catalyst Panem needs to overthrow their oppressors. Miners, Merchants, Farmers, Fabric Makers. All band together to take out their overseers. Even the Peacekeepers switch sides. Understanding, finally, that they are slaves to a system that keeps their people oppressed. A sentiment helped along by a certain red-headed retired Head Peacekeeper.

After the final shot rings out, after the revolution ends and a peace treaty is signed, throngs of people pile onto the trains, eager to seek out a new life in a new district.

Peeta and I are among the people crushing the train station, though we do not plan on going with our neighbors. We stand on the platform, hugging Prim and Rory and their daughter goodbye and wishing them well.

There are also people from other districts, clamoring at the borders of Twelve to come _in_. And to my amazement, my first husband, Darius, is one of them.

The day that my first husband reappears in Twelve is the happiest of my life. When he sweeps onto the platform, bearing tickets and passage for all of us in a new life, I launch myself into his arms and attack him with loving pecks furiously. I kiss him openly, and he kisses me back. The four children we had together clamor around their father, leaving Peeta and Wheat standing alone.

When Darius and I dreamily break the kiss at last, I turn back to my husband. My second husband. My eyes fill with tears. "Please," I beg, knowing he will understand.

And Peeta - good, sweet, gentle, dear Peeta! - does. Even though his heart is breaking, even though there are tears in his eyes too, he sets me free. He smiles sadly. "Go."

I give him a watery, grateful smile. Next second, I run down the length of the platform and fall into his embrace, flinging my arms about his neck as I push my lips against his own in a long, grateful kiss. And as Peeta and I embrace and kiss, my ravished lips curl up into a smile.

"I love you!" I whisper through my choked-up throat. And I mean it.

Peeta releases me from the kiss at last tenderly. Pecking my stepson on the forehead, I run back to my family before I can change my mind, and we board the train, bound for District 4. Bound for freedom.

* * *

I quickly adapt to my new life by the sea. Mother joins my family there in Four as well, and I finally meet Finnick Odair, my famous brother-in-law. Darius and I marry in a District 4 court of law, signing papers in the Justice Building and sealing it with a kiss. Just like that, we marry again.

Though from my second marriage, one thing I keep: my wedding ring on a chain around my neck. The ring Peeta gave me when we wed. I also keep the memory of Peace, the one child we had together, close to my heart.

The years pass. And while I feel a twinge of pining, of guilt for the baker - the other husband I left behind - each night when I fall asleep in Darius's arms to the sound of our grandchildren's laughter, I know I made the right decision. I know I wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
